


Twitch

by omphale23, slidellra (sli)



Category: due South
Genre: Co-Written, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphale23/pseuds/omphale23, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sli/pseuds/slidellra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray's got three and a half hours left in his shift. He's going a little stir-crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twitch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/primrose/gifts).



> This started out as commentfic for [](http://primroseburrows.livejournal.com/profile)[**primroseburrows**](http://primroseburrows.livejournal.com/). And then it...grew. To 4,700 words.

Ray's got three and a half hours left in his shift. He's going a little stir-crazy.

He hates the graveyard shift. Even the name is creepy, and nothing good happens at this time of night. Zombie attacks, maybe. Suicides.

Yes, fine, he's sometimes up until four in the morning anyway (and not because of the triple espresso he picks up on the way home, no matter what Fraser says, because he's recently learned that correlation is not causation, a statement that comes in handy more than you'd expect) but it's different when he has to be awake on the job. That's not any fun. There's no option for middle-of-the-night sex when he's at work.

And he sucks at minesweeper. Those little bomb things have it in for him. They move around and they wait until he's sure he's going to win, and then they pounce. They get together, and they say, "Hey, Ray's getting a little too cocky, let's all make him feel like a big loser. Ready? Go!"

Little red x's everywhere.

And Ray falls for it every time. He'd quit and play cards, solitaire or something, but Ante chewed up the four of hearts. Plus, the maple leaves on his deck (deck, with an _E_, thank you very much) remind him of the sex he's not having.

He used to keep silly putty in his desk for nights like this. But somebody cleaned out his drawers ("This could be a choking hazard, Ray, and you wouldn't want to be responsible for endangering the lives of the good citizens of Chicago.") and now he's stuck. Bored. Banging his head on the desk for entertainment, which is probably not very smart.

This sucks. He looks at the phone. It would be mean to call home right now. Not at all nice. He should just wait for someone to call with a problem. Then he can do some actual work. Take some statements. Detect something. Anything.

The phone's not ringing.

Ray doesn't really have a good reason to call and check in. He's just bored. And tired. And maybe a little lonely. He's fully capable of entertaining himself, though.

Still nothing. Maybe the phone is broken. Maybe people are trying to call, but they're getting a busy signal. Ray could be saving lives by checking to ensure that his phone is in working order.

He picks up the receiver. Dials 9. Gets a dial tone. It's working. He doesn't need to wake Fraser up. One of them should get some rest.

He's got three more hours of this. He's out of silly putty. He's one card short of a deck. His computer is laughing at him.

Fraser's off duty tomorrow. He can sleep in.

Ray dials the phone.

Fraser answers on the third ring, so he must have been really asleep, dreaming of sled dogs or something. "Ray? Is there something wrong?" Ray can hear rustling as Fraser sits up and tries to wake up. "Is it a case?"

He toys with the idea of hauling Fraser in to have someone to talk to, but Ray can't be that cruel. Besides, Fraser's liable to politely insist on sleeping on the couch for the rest of the week. That would suck, because this is his last overnight shift, and Ray has plans for Wednesday. And Thursday. And Friday.

"Nah. I'm just hyper. And there's nothing going on."

"And you decided to call me at," more rustling and then a click as Fraser turns on the bedside lamp. "You called me at 4:13 in the morning because you didn't have anything else to do?" Fraser sounds more surprised than annoyed, like this is one more American custom he's somehow missed.

"Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't sound like such a good idea." Ray doesn't feel guilty. Okay, maybe a little bit. "But as long as you're awake, how about talking for a while?"

There's probably some eyebrow rubbing going on by now, as Fraser tries to figure out a polite way to say, "What the hell is wrong with you, Ray?" He heads it off with a question of his own.

"So, Fraser, whatcha wearing?"

"Well, Ray, as you know, I'm wearing the same thing that I was when you left for work this evening."

Okay, the guy really doesn't get phone sex. "No, Frase, you're supposed to make something up. Something sexy."

"Ah." Fraser hesitates, but finally starts to argue. "I don't think I can do that. That would be lying, as I'm not wearing anything at the moment."

"Come on, you can do better than--" Ray chokes as he realizes what he's just heard. "Wait a minute. Did you just say you're naked?" Damn, he should've worn looser pants.

"As I said earlier, I'm wearing what I was when you left, which, as you recall, was soon after we," Ray hears an embarrassed cough, "after we had finished saying goodbye to each other."

Huh. So Fraser had been so wiped out, he hadn't bothered to get up and put anything on afterwards. He'd been sleeping there, nothing on, the whole time Ray was sitting at his desk, thinking about silly putty or something equally stupid. Naked. Fraser, not Ray. Ray is not naked, although he wishes he was.

Ray shifts in his seat. He has to clear his throat before he speaks again. "Oh yeah? So what've you been doing?"

"I've been sleeping, Ray. It's the middle of the night."

Ray bangs his head on the top of the desk. "Right, right, but what else?"

"What else should I have been doing?" Fraser sounds completely bewildered.

Okay, Ray might have to walk him through this. "Have any, you know, dreams?"

"Now that you mention it, I believe I did. Give me a moment to recollect."

Ray can hear Fraser shifting on the bed, and closes his eyes to picture him with the sheets pooled in his lap, sitting back against the headboard.

"I was in Aklavik, which is unusual, as I rarely dream about urban areas. There was a raven, and we were having a conversation about..."

Jesus. "Stop. Stop. Fraser. Let me spell this out for you. I'll try to use big words so you'll understand. I am bored, as in lacking external stimulation from my environment, and you are naked, as in wearing no clothes in our bed." Ray pauses hopefully.

"Ah. Yes, I understand the situation."

Long silence.

"Would you like me to continue telling you about my dream?"

"Was I there?"

"No, not as such."

Ray considers the 'as such' for a moment, but figures if he was there as a bobcat or wildebeest or something, it wasn't going to help the mood. "Okay, let's try something else. Whatcha doing now?"

"Talking with you, Ray." Fraser says, just a bit testy.

"You in bed?"

"Yes."

"Still naked?"

"Yes."

"Did you take a shower after I left?" Ray's dick perks up again at the thought.

"No, I'm afraid I didn't. I was rather... tired." Ray's dick perks up some more. Apparently, Ray's dick likes exhausted sexed up Fraser even more than naked, soapy Fraser.

"So maybe we'll take a shower when I get home, you think?"

"I'd like that." That's the ticket. Just a little bit of Fraser's sex voice there.

Ray settles himself more comfortably on the chair, spreading his legs a bit. "And if we're going to take a shower, there's no reason not to get a little dirtier now."

Fraser starts in with the lecturing tone. "I'm not sure that you're in an appropriate location for the activity which, if I understand correctly, you're suggesting. After all, you owe a duty to the citizens of Chicago to be alert at all times during your shift."

Ray thinks that he'd really like to be able to go home and fuck Fraser. And then he'd like to kick him in the fucking head for being an ass. "Fraser."

"Yes?"

Ray counts to ten. "Shut up. I'm alert, I'm awake, I'm taking an interest in the proceedings. In fact, this particular conversation is what's keeping me from dozing off and getting drool all over my desk which the city has so kindly provided. So can you do me a favor?"

Fraser answers immediately. "Of course."

"Don't mention the citizens of Chicago again. Just don't, okay?"

"If you insist. What would you like to talk about instead?" Ray sits quietly, waiting. "Oh. Right, yes, we were discussing," and here Fraser's voice drops to a murmur, which is really a lot hotter than it should be, as he adds, "dirt, I think. There are many kinds of dirt, as you know—"

Ray groans. "If you don't stop talking about dirt, I'm going to come over there and pound you."

Fraser chuckles, because he's not as oblivious as he acts, the bastard. "You wouldn't want to desert your post. Even if I do deserve, as you say, a pounding."

Ray doesn't think they're talking about the same kind of pounding, here. Or maybe they are. "You wait, smartass. Three more hours, and I'm going to make you sorry for being such a jerkoff." Shit. It's possible his brain has disconnected from his mouth.

Fraser is breathing softly into the phone. "Oh, I highly doubt that. After all, I believe that 'jerking off' as you put it, is the direction we were heading, is it not?" His voice breaks a little on the end, and Ray suddenly realizes that Fraser is more than a little bit distracted by something.

It's worth a shot. "If I ask you what you're doing right now, am I going to like your answer?"

"I suppose that depends on whether you'd prefer to hear about what we could be doing if you were home, or whether you'd like to know what I'm doing to myself instead."

"I'm going to go with Door Number Two, Fraser." Ray crosses his fingers.

"Aerobic exercise is highly encouraged as beneficial for individuals attempting to improve their sleep patterns, Ray."

Ray figures he knows what kind of exercise Fraser's got in mind. "Oh yeah?"

Fraser's breathing speeds up. "Mm-hm. Very, um, healthy. And, ah, pleasant. For you. Enjoyable for, um, people."

Okay, incoherence is good. Really good. This may be the weirdest fucking phone sex he's ever had, but Fraser losing track of what he's saying is pretty damn hot.

"So it's good, then."

"Mmm-hmm."

Full Fraser sex voice now, and Ray's an idiot. He's trapped at his desk with his dick aching in his pants and Fraser (the lucky, beautiful, naked _bastard_) panting in his ear. And he didn't think to call on his cell so he could at least escape to the bathroom.

"Which hand are you using?" Details are important.

"My left."

"You usually use your right. On me."

"My left hand feels more like," Fraser's voice deepens and smoothes out and, god, Ray wants him so badly, "you, Ray."

It's takes him a minute to speak, to make any sound that's not just a whine. "So, it's me jerking you off?" He checks the clock. Jesus fuck. Maybe it's broken.

"Not exactly. I'm not imagining your hand."

Ray shifts in the seat and his mouth starts watering, right on cue. "Jesus, Frase. Yeah."

"Oh, yes," The words are choppier now, catching with the rhythm of Fraser's hand. "If you were..."

And, because God and the criminals of Chicago do not have Ray's dick's best interests at heart, the other line flashes and a couple of uniforms come in with this Incredible Hulk type guy in handcuffs. Ray tries to ignore them for a minute, just hunches over the phone and blocks everything out and listens as hard as he can to Fraser gasping about what they'd be doing if he was home, but Fraser's bat ears work even through the sex haze and he catches on.

When he starts back up with the "citizens of Chicago" routine, Ray hangs up on him and switches to the other line. Damn. Nothing like a hold-up gone bad to kill the mood. He grabs some more coffee on his way out of the station. He's going to be late.

The hold-up is a mess, nobody saw anything and the cashier is just a kid and she's too freaked out to really talk to anyone yet. The crime scene guys take fucking_forever_ to get there, and Ray's just spinning his wheels once the ambulance leaves. He can't really investigate, because somebody's got to watch the scene, and he can't go home, either. It's ten in the morning before he manages to wrap things up enough to hand it off to the day shift, and he's running on fumes the whole way home.

The worst thing is that, if he'd gotten home on time, he might have been able to sneak in while Fraser was still asleep. But by now the wolf's probably awake and annoying and Fraser's already up doing "Benton Fraser's Day Off" out in the city somewhere. Which means he's going to get a quick shower and a cold bed, in that order. If he's lucky there'll be some leftover oatmeal or something in the oven.

He's just tired enough to eat it. Maybe.

So he doesn't worry about being quiet when he walks in the door, just throws his cuffs and his wallet on the table and locks his holster in the desk. He's already got his shoes off and his t-shirt pulled up over his head when he walks into the bedroom, so it takes a few seconds to realize that he's not alone.

Fraser's still asleep in their bed, one arm thrown over his eyes and Dief curled up on the rug next to him. Ray figures that he must be sick, because he has never (and that means never, in all the years they've known each other) slept this late before.

Well, there was that time before he showed up, the thing with the bank robber, but that doesn't count. Besides, Ray doesn't smell perfume in the air. Just the usual laundry and damp wolf and leftover pizza.

So Fraser must be sick. Only he doesn't _look_ sick. And he didn't sound sick last night on the phone. And even if this particular situation is totally unexpected, Ray's never been one to turn down a gift.

He decides to skip the shower, for the moment. After all, they're just going to get dirtier. At least he hopes they're going to. Eventually.

Slipping out of the rest of his clothes, he crosses the room and slides under the covers. Fraser stirs, turning and wrapping one arm around Ray's chest as he settles back into sleep. Ray considers waking him up for a quick fuck, but the temptation of a late-morning nap (just to rebuild his strength) proves too much for him, and he drifts off.

Maybe an hour later, maybe less, he wakes up to Fraser's face, hovering over him and looking...hungry.

Ray stretches and smiles. He's still way short on sleep, but who needs sleep when there's a naked Benton Fraser?

"You hung up on me," Fraser says with a frown.

"Stuff happened. Had to go."

"That wasn't very polite, was it?"

Ray's pretty sure Fraser's just fucking with him, but, just to make sure, he arches up to rub against him. Yeah. Unless Fraser finds stern lectures on telephone decorum hot, he's got more than Ray's manners on his mind.

"I'm just rude, I guess. And you were just getting to the good part, too."

Fraser throws a leg over Ray's thighs to straddle him and gathers Ray's wrists together, pinning them to the pillow above his head. Ray lets him, enjoying the sight.

"Good morning." Ray bares his teeth a little. This day is starting off damn well, all things considered.

"Good morning, Ray." Fraser draws his free hand down Ray's chest, lingering on the line of hair below his belly button. "I waited up for you."

Ray tries to move closer to Fraser's hand, to rub against any handy part of him, but he's pretty well trapped. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Fraser drawls in a terrible imitation of Ray's accent. "I found my activities less stimulating without your participation."

Ray's hard again, his dick pointing up towards his stomach and just brushing Fraser's wrist as Fraser traces patterns on Ray's skin. "I can participate now," he offers, 'cause he's a generous guy.

"Perhaps."

Fraser's fingers trail down Ray's hip to meet his own thigh, then idly stroke his own skin. Frowning again, he leans forward and switches hands, grabbing Ray's wrists with his right and freeing his left.

"What were you thinking when you called? You'd get me to masturbate for your entertainment?"

That's not it. Exactly. "Just wanted to call. The other thing was a bonus."

Fraser nods and presses his fingers to Ray's lips, tracing their shape. Ray opens his mouth, following Fraser's fingers with his tongue. Fraser slips two in, slowly fucking them in and out.

"I was thinking about your mouth," he says, his sex voice back in all its aching, dark, toe-curling glory.

Ray closes his lips around Fraser's fingers and sucks, keeping eye contact. It's worse than earlier, and better, with Fraser right there, so close, touching him, but not touching the really good stuff.

Pulling his fingers away, Fraser wraps them around his own dick. Ray watches, fascinated. He's hardly ever seen Fraser jerk off. He's usually the one touching Fraser's dick, or getting sucked off and he knows Fraser's doing it but can't see anything more than his arm moving. Fraser uses this upside down grip with his thumb toward the base of his dick, pulling up and squeezing the head with every stroke.

"You wanted to picture me doing this." It's not a question.

Ray answers anyway. "God, yes."

He can't look away from Fraser's hand, from his dick, from the way he moves faster as the slick spreads with the brush of his fingers over the head. Ray tries to move his own hands, tries to touch Fraser, himself, anything at all, but his wrists are still pinned and Fraser's hand is sliding faster, pulling and rubbing and Ray can't seem to get enough leverage to move. He can't breathe. He's afraid to blink.

This is so much worse than the phone.

This is some sort of punishment for all those months he pictured Fraser's mouth on his dick, all the times he jerked off to images of Fraser's hands on him. He's being tormented because of the time he wasted being too scared to ask for what he wanted. The only thing he can figure out is that the gods of sex are somehow taking lessons from minesweeper, and they've waited until he thought he was safe before giving Fraser the bright idea of teasing Ray until he dies of wanting.

The gods of sex are evil.

He's still watching Fraser, watching as he loses his rhythm, then finds it again. Ray's hips are jerking in counterpoint, shifting upward even though he's trying not to distract Fraser from what he's doing. He can't seem to hold still. He stares as Fraser pulls his hand away, panting, and licks his own fingers.

Ray wonders whether it's possible for him to come just from watching someone else. He wonders whether Fraser's trying to find out. He's not sure whether that pisses him off, or turns him on.

Fraser's moan breaks Ray's chain of thought, and he looks up.

Fraser is up on his knees now, his cock closer to Ray's face, his back arched a little, his arm disappearing behind him. Ray shifts to watch Fraser's fingers moving in and out of his ass, then looks up at his face.

Fraser's head is turned to the side and his eyes are shut. He's not teasing anymore; he's breathing fast, this look of want and surprise and, god, pleasure on his face. Ray always wants to see Fraser this way. He's incredible, beautiful, and Ray wants to suck him, fuck him, get fucked by him, and kiss that mouth all at once.

His dick is as hard as it's ever been and he's dizzy with this frustrated need. He lifts his head, straining toward Fraser's dick with his lips and tongue, trying to make contact.

He glances up again, just in time to see Fraser's eyes fly open and then focus on Ray's face, Ray's mouth reaching for his dick, and he makes this soft sound and shuffles higher on the bed in a strangely graceless move. Ray still has to crane his head up to capture Fraser's dick, wrapping his tongue around it to guide it into his mouth. Then it's easy, smooth and easy, for Ray to run his tongue along the shaft and suck on the head and then take more, filling his mouth with Fraser, feeling Fraser respond, feel him get even harder, rocking back onto his fingers and forward into Ray's mouth.

At this angle, Fraser's hand is heavier on Ray's wrists, making his fingers tingle. He wriggles them and Fraser pulls his fingers out of himself and twines both hands with Ray's, still holding him down. There's nothing for Ray to rub against and his dick is aching, but he concentrates on making it as good for Fraser as he can, making Fraser want it as bad as he does.

From the sounds Fraser's making, he's doing a pretty good job. Something to be said for practice and enthusiasm. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the feeling of Fraser's weight on his hands and Fraser's dick, hot and hard and slick, in his mouth.

He takes it back. This is much better than Fraser on the phone. This is better than almost anything, and when Fraser lets go of his hands and leans up, he doesn't bother to move. Just moans a little, protesting, and winds his fingers through the headboard. He's got to hang on to something, because if he doesn't Fraser's going to end up on his back with Ray trying to swallow him whole. That would sort of defeat the purpose of Fraser being in charge. Fun, but not really the point just now.

Fraser shifts above him, but Ray follows with his mouth and he settles back soon enough, his thighs shaking with the strain of holding still above Ray and his breath catching with every tiny shift forward.

Ray scrapes his teeth along Fraser's foreskin and Fraser keeps moaning, little guttural sounds that aren't really words but still manage to sound an awful lot like begging. Ray's happy to oblige, swallowing around his thrusts and sucking hard as he tries to pull back.

He's startled as Fraser finally shifts away, tempted to ask what the problem is, but he loses track of whatever he planned to say as his dick is suddenly sliding deep into Fraser's ass. He hears a hiss and opens his eyes, watching Fraser bite his lip in concentration as he lowers himself onto Ray, has to wrench himself away from coming at the sight, knuckles white against the urge to grab Fraser by the hips and drive upwards.

He grips the headboard tight enough to hurt, tight enough to distract him from the sight of Fraser's flushed face and hard dick and from the tight hot perfection of Fraser's ass. Fraser doesn't lose his hard-on when he gets fucked and Ray thinks about that for a minute, wonders why, but that doesn't do anything to cool him down and when Fraser shifts slightly, lifts up, Ray has to follow with his hips and thrust into him.

Fraser makes a sound, a surprised huff of breath, and his eyes flick between Ray's hands and Ray's face. He smiles at Ray, quick and warm, and says, "Don't move."

Ray grins back and thrusts up hard, his hands still tight on the headboard. Fraser bears down on him and they're good, Fraser moving on him in this steady beat and Ray pushing up, trying to speed him up, both working against each other so they come together a little harder each time.

Fraser isn't touching himself, of course he isn't, he's just riding Ray, looking serious and sweaty and impossibly fucking hot. Ray licks his lip and bites his tongue and decides that he's quitting his job. Fraser's quitting his job, too. There is just too much time when they aren't doing this and that's wrong. He'll explain it to Fraser later, but he's pretty sure that Fraser'll agree.

Fraser's eyes have gone all unfocused and he's grunting every time their bodies slap together and Ray knows what that means, knows he's getting close, so he looks at Fraser's throat and jaw and tries to wait for him. He can do it, he's got control, especially if Fraser would stop with the sex sounds just for one goddamn minute.

When Fraser drops his chin and looks at him, Ray's on it. He lets go of the headboard and reaches for Fraser's dick, Fraser's wide eyes tracking his hand. Fraser starts coming pretty much the second Ray wraps his fingers around him, and Ray gasps a sharp "oh fuck" and drives up up up into Fraser's perfect, wonderful ass as he jerks Fraser through it.

All it takes is the look on Fraser's face, like Ray's the best thing he can think of, and Ray's coming too. He tries to keep his eyes open but he can't take it, can't watch Fraser watching him while his brain tries to short circuit.

They're just laying there, sweaty and fucked-out and tired all over again, when Ray's cell phone starts ringing. He tries to shove it under the pillow, but Fraser's faster and he's got it open before Ray can explain that he's not mentally equipped to answer the phone. He's not sure where his brain went, but he hopes it had as good a time as the rest of him did.

So it's possible that he sounds less than pleased when he answers the phone. "What."

It's the Consulate on the other end. That weaselly guy who replaced Thatcher. "Detective Kowalski. I'd like to speak to Corporal Fraser, please."

Fraser starts to pull the phone away, but Ray grabs his wrist and shakes his head. No way they're calling Fraser in on his day off. Ray's got _plans_, dammit. "He's busy. Can't get to the phone." Which is true, because Fraser's busy trying to get the phone and there's no way Ray's going to let him.

"Well, I'd like to speak to him. It seems that I've underestimated the catering schedule for tonight's--"

Ray growls at Fraser, and Morris shuts up. "He's busy, I said. Sorry, but there's just no way he can come in. Tell you what, though. As soon as he gets a break, I'll have him call you back."

Fraser's looking seriously annoyed. Ray gives him a shove and follows him over, straddling Fraser's hips and grinning while Morris keeps babbling about spinach rolls and quiche. He plants his other hand in the middle of Fraser's chest and shakes his head again. Fraser closes his eyes.

"Look, we've got plans. He hasn't had a day off in two weeks, and he can't come in. I'll have him call, but that's it. Take it or leave it. And you can't ask him to come in. You do, and I'm going to come down there and kick your head in."

Morris is a lot more scared of Ray than the Ice Queen was. It comes in handy. "Well, I suppose we can muddle through without his help."

Ray nods his head, but Morris can't see him. "Yeah, I thought so. I'll have him back to you first thing tomorrow. Nice talking to you." He hangs up before Fraser can figure out that he's not being held down anymore. The phone lands on Dief, who noses it under the bed and then looks up at Ray like he's expecting doughnuts and pizza every day for a month. Ray shrugs.

"Ray, I need to be able to be reached in case of emergency. That was extremely...." He trails off as Ray starts running his thumbs along Fraser's collarbones. "I suppose it's possible that they'll be fine without me."

Ray nods his head again and tries to leer, but ruins it by yawning. "Yeah, it's possible. Come on, you woke me up. I need my sleep, because I've got plans for you later."

"Oh, well that's different," Fraser says. "I didn't realize you had plans." The uptight tone doesn't match the easy way he lies back, pulling Ray half across his chest.

"Yeah," mumbles Ray. "Firm plans. Now shut up."

Fraser presses a kiss to the side of Ray's head. It's quiet here on Fraser, and he can feel his brain shutting down bit by bit.

He dreams of minesweeper.


End file.
